


Hey, do me a favour.

by SuperAnarchy



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Implied past Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 15:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4441001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperAnarchy/pseuds/SuperAnarchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sebastian has been on Chris' mind all night, alcohol plays a big part and Jeremy shows up like the perfect solution to try to forget about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, do me a favour.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I just remembered I never posted this one on Ao3, so here it is!

The night of the Age of Ultron’s World Premiere, Chris gets drunk.

He gets drunk because it helps. It helps his anxiety; it helps to deal with the press and the massive presence of fans, all of the attention drawn to him. It helps to deal with everything going on around him and to keep him as far as possible from risking an anxiety attack. Helps to give all those interviews with the same questions he’s already answered hundreds times this week, and it helps with being under the spotlight for a few hours –which usually gives him headaches; that’s why he never forgets to wear his glasses.

It also helps the fact that he doesn’t know whether Sebastian will show up or not.

His mother warned him, told him to be careful, not to drink too much but Chris said “I’m fine!” while Chris meant “I need to get wasted or I won’t handle it.”

He doesn’t, get wasted; he just drinks a glass or two here and there, once in a while, all day long. He drinks with some of his co-stars because it’s a huge deal to celebrate, the Premiere. He drinks with Hemsworth, drinks with Jeremy between silly bets or childish games; shares one or two with Scarlett as well.

He drinks to forget, drinks to escape his noisy brain.

When Chris realises Sebastian isn’t coming, because it’s too late now, because he’s waiting backstage to walk in to present the movie, because there’s no reason he would anyway; he gets a punch right in the chest. He doesn’t want to admit it’s because his heart is breaking into billions of sharp pieces, because yes, maybe,  _maybe_ Chris thought he would show up – yeah, he was stupid enough to think so.

The funniest, or most pathetic part –your pick– is that Chris was stupid enough to think  _he would_ ; that Sebastian _would_  come, walk on the red carpet, find him and say “I miss you,” or say, “please give me a second chance,” to which Chris would respond by kissing the hell out of him. He's thought this through.

It wouldn’t matter that they’d be on the red carpet, wouldn’t matter they’d be photographed by everyone and the moment immortalized by cameras forever, wouldn’t matter that it would happen in front of his family because then they’d know.  _Everyone_. Everyone would know Chris and Sebastian are a thing, and it’s not a bad thing.  _They would be a thing_.

By the end of the night, he’s lost any hope to see Sebastian; but he knows he doesn’t want to end the night alone.

The after-party at Jeremy’s place seems to last forever and Chris is thankful. He doesn’t want to be alone right now; he needs animation and conversations, and being surrounded by friends and family, to be busy. He knows if he goes home, he’ll get to bed, having his sisters and mother sleeping in the guests rooms, and he’ll lay there, agonizing in his insomnia. Checking his phone for a non-existent text that will  _never_ come. He received a shit ton of congratulating texts all week, but not one, not a single one from the only person he wants to hear from.

When Scarlett left, Chris remembers he hugged her but also that he didn’t pay much attention to it, too caught up in the story he was telling his friends. When Chris’ family left, Chris said he’d join them later at his place, gave his mom the key. When Hemsworth and his wife left, he hugged his friend for a long minute, not really wanting to let go.

Ruffalo left a long time ago, was the first one of the clique to go, and now that Robert has just left, it leaves Chris and Jeremy alone. Not  _exactly_  alone, since other people are still hanging around, but from the main cast: they are. Alone. Together.

And close.

Somehow the party dies out and everyone leaves slowly, Mackie included and now Chris is sitting on the edge of the couch, looking at Jeremy closing the door behind the last of his guests. You can’t say they don’t have history together, they do. Jeremy has this little something that can get Chris off in the span of a second.  _Just_  a second. A ridiculously short one. Just a look, a change of his tone, a touch, or all of them at once and Chris would go down on his knees.

It’s always been… special between them. They have this relationship, it’s not love but it’s not  _just_  sex either. It’s two buddies fucking and enjoying some time together when they’re feeling like it. Nothing compared to what Sebastian and Chris had. Jeremy’s that funny guy, not too tall, not too beefy, but  _incredibly_  hot in Chris’ opinion. He’s got that little something, that friendly, sexy vibe and he never fails to send Chris straight to heaven.

“Are you planning on leaving someday?” Jeremy asks as he starts to gather the empty drinks from around the apartment.

“Are you kicking me out?”

“Dunno. Depends.”

“Depends on what?” Chris is hoping for a special kind of answer.

Jeremy sends him a look, a “you-know-exactly-what-im-talking-about-don’t-pretend-to-be-a-virgin-teenager” look and Chris’ hand moves between his closed legs. Jeremy smirks and looks back down at the table, grabbing more half-empty drinks.

“I think you’re too drunk to drive anyway,” Jeremy says, without glancing at him, and Chris stares at his hands. Watch them move, focusing on the rings. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting him fascinated by those beautiful fingers, maybe it’s because he hasn’t gotten laid in a long time, maybe it’s both but damn, he’d give anything to lick them. Lick them until they’re wet enough to fuck him nice and good.

“I’m as drunk as you are,” he retorts.

Jeremy glances up at him. “Then you’re definitely too drunk to drive,” he jokes and walks toward the kitchen sink.

“So y‘kicking me out?” Chris asks, lifting his ass from the couch, slowly trying to walk _somewhat_  steadily to the kitchen.

“Y’can have the couch.”

He completely fails at walking straight, staggers all the way, but he arrives there the best he can; only hitting his thigh once on the sharp edge of the dining table on the way. He probably think he’s smooth, maybe he sees himself being smooth when he presses his chest against Jeremy’s back, but he’s really not. Too brutal, too drunk, too needy.

“What about you?” He whispers in Jeremy’ ear, poisoned breath lingering on his skin. He trails his lips along Jeremy’s neck, beard tickling, hands wandering over his chest. “Can I have you?”

“Hmm, have you been good enough?” he asks back and Chris groans, his erection pressing against his elder’s ass.

Chris doesn’t see it, he’s too busy nibbling at the skin of his neck, but Jeremy smirks at the contact; pushing back against his hard cock and one of Chris’ hands gets lost on the bulge of Jeremy’s pants. Squeezing.

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs, already breathless at the idea of spending the rest of the night with Jeremy. He makes him wait, teases him, give another tiny thrust back and Chris groans once again, “ _please_.”

Jeremy shifts in his arms to face him, Chris’ big hands now on his ass. “You want it that bad huh?” He asks, maintaining the eye contact.

Chris’ drags his teeth along his lower lip, biting at it, obscene, lewd and filthy. And drunk. Nodding. He nods and he hesitates, a second, two at most, searching for a sort of agreement in Jeremy’s eyes. He gets it, at least he thinks he does when he leans in, quick, pressing their lips together. Jeremy doesn’t push back, goes into it even. It’s wet and terrible, both of them evidently inebriated, but it’s both of them being drunk that makes it seem good and alluring.

Chris’ hands gropes at Jeremy’s back and he moans, desperate sounds lost in his mouth.

He’s being dragged to the bedroom, getting undressed on the way. He already lost his jacket a long time ago, but looses a lot more by the time he hits the bed. Jeremy lost his fair share too though, and when Chris fingers find the hem of his underwear and start to slip under it, Jeremy pushes his hand away. He grabs both of Chris’ wrists and pins them down on the bed, next to Chris’ head. Chris pouts –  _fucking pouts at him_.

“Gotta earn it,” Jeremy explains, looking deep in Chris’ eyes. Smirking, playful.

Chris’ hips jerks upward, and Jeremy smirk grows wider. Chris could extract himself of his hold, but that’s not the point. He’s got Jeremy above him, bare chest and strong arms pinning him down, and Jeremy knows exactly what Chris likes.  _How_ he likes it.

They’ve done it before, a few times. They’ve done it in Chris’ bed, on his couch. They’ve done it on this very same bed too, once; in Jeremy’s trailer while filming the first Avengers, and in two or three hotel rooms. It’s fair to say they’re starting to know pretty damn well how they each function. What to do to send each other to heaven. And what Chris gets high on, is dirty talk and power play, and Jeremy does that well enough.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Chris breathes, starting to squirm on the mattress.

“I’m waiting,” Jeremy fakes impatience – or does he? He’s not entirely sure it’s a hundred percent fake. He’s too drunk to tell.

“ _Fuck_ , please, fuck me –I want you to fuck me,  _please_ ,” Chris answers, fast, the words coming out all at once.

Jeremy bends over to start licking at his ear, moving down to his neck, biting and sucking lightly, oddly aware enough to remember that hickeys in the middle of the world press tour would be the stupidest idea ever.

“C’mon, ’can do better than this,” he says. The next lick is back up to his ear and it sends an electric shock through Chris’ spine, he moans in a loud breath.

He catches Jeremy’s mouth, bite at his lower lip, asking for a way in. One he obtains easily, and Jeremy’s fingers loosen their hold on his wrists, sliding to find his hands and fingers to twine together.

Next thing Chris knows, he’s got his hips waving on the bed, following the rhythm of Jeremy’s fingers moving in and out of him. Jeremy’s kissing all around his hard cock, his inner thighs and his pelvis, nuzzling and teasing him to tears of frustration. He’s just so close to his erection, he can feel him above it, feel his breath, his warmth, ghosting and getting him to the edge but  _not_ touching and it’s driving Chris insane.

“ _Fuck, shit, Jeremy, fuck, please, I can’t-please,”_ he begs loudly, calling for help. Craving a touch. Needing one.

The inhale he takes, powerful and deep, and so,  _so_ loud when he feels the tip of his cock nestling inside Jeremy’s mouth almost gets him lightheaded. It’s like he’s been teased for hours when it’s only really been a few minutes, and he honestly isn’t able to explain how he didn’t came just from the feeling it sent him.

The air gets stuck in his lungs for half a minute, making him clutch at the pillow under his head; and then he breathe out in a depraved, deafening moan. Jeremy licks and sucks perfectly, familiar, and a succession of vulgar groans falls from Chris’ lips. Eventually they get mixed with swearing, and cursing and a lot more begging.

“ _God, fuck,_  I want your fucking cock in me,” Chris tells Jeremy, pulling at his hair to bring him back to his face.

Jeremy looks down at him, that stupid smug smile curved on his lips yet again; “don’t know, don’t think you deserve it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Chris swears,  _once more_. Jeremy’s stopped fucking him with his fingers so Chris starts to do it, impaling himself on the fingers that are still inside him. “Fuck me,  _please_ ,” he says again, nibbling at his lower lip as he rolls his hips frenetically.

“Oh my god, you’re  _such_  a needy little whore,” Jeremy laughs and plays.

He lightens the spark Chris’ eyes, making him shiver against the mattress.

“You still like getting called a whore don’t you baby?” Jeremy slides his fingers out of Chris, let him whine at the loss and bite harder at his lip. “My sweet little whore, begging me to fuck you,” he says, fondly, “just like old times.”

Chris complains, squirms; wants to be touched, wants to be fucked. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you,” Jeremy adds, leaving a kiss on Chris’ collarbone tattoo. “Roll over.”

Jeremy kneels on the bed and Chris gasps at the compression of his hard-on against the bed. Jeremy seizes Chris’ waist, lift him to his hands and knees. He trails his fingers along Chris’ back, tracing the lines of his beautiful muscles, and with a sweet voice he asks, “you and your boy are broken up, right?”

Chris opens his eyes, feels sober for endless seconds. “Seb? Yeah,” he says, like it’s nothing. He tries to not clear his throat too loudly, “he found someone better.”

He gets that weight on his chest again, like earlier tonight, like he’s been hit hard right in the heart. He doesn’t want to think of Sebastian, not right now, not when he’s fucking trying to forget about him, but he does; he thinks of him, imagine it’s him and not Jeremy about to take him from behind, marvels at the idea, and he thinks of Sebastian making love to his girlfriend and he dies a little inside.

“I doubt that,” Jeremy says, and Chris barely hears it, “how could he want someone else when he can have you, hm?”

He feels a hit, a slap, right on his left cheek and Chris moans, bites at his lower lip.

“If I had you like this, open and stretched, all for me, every night… I’m telling you I ain’t going to someone else’s bed.”

“Then stop talking and fuck me,” Chris desperately tries to thrust backward, blindly looking for Jeremy’s cock to impale himself on.

Chris can hear the smirk on his voice when Jeremy asks, “want me to fuck him out of your mind?”

But he doesn’t answer, not quick enough at least and Jeremy’s hand hits his cheek with another slap with the palm of his firm hand –Chris is pretty sure he’ll have the mark of Jeremy’s rings on his butt later, but it doesn’t matter. “I asked you a question.”

The tone he uses, strict and severe, makes Chris groan, his expression changing into a delighted pain. “Fuck,  _yes please_.”

Chris feels Jeremy’s cock pressing,  _just_  pressing,  _not_  sliding inside and he goes insane; and when he tries to move back to force its way in, Jeremy moves back as well. “Not sure you deserve it actually.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Chris whines.

“’S’not nice to think about someone else than who’s fucking your pretty ass, Evans.”

“I’m not, please, I  _swear_  I’m not. C’mon Jer’ fuck me,  _please_.”

“Alright,” he says, seizing Chris’ hips in his hands. “Better not hear you moan his name,” he adds as he snaps inside him, rough and deep.

Chris moans, outrageously loud. He moans more, louder with every roll of Jeremy’s hips,  _god_  does he know exactly what Chris needs right now. Breath ragged and fingers clutching at the sheets, Chris whines, needy and desperate; the alcohol increasing all of the sensations.

“Faster –fuck,  _faster please_ ,” Chris begs, so close already. He’s been teased for too long.

Jeremy boost his pace, thrust faster and harder, so much Chris think he might not walk correctly tomorrow but it doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters. Nothing but the sensation growing in his lower belly.

“Like that?” Jeremy asks with so much hotness in his voice Chris shudders; his solid arms failing under the words, making him fall forward on the mattress. He feels Jeremy’s fingers tightening their grip on his hips to get a better grasp; make it easier to thrust fast, just like he begged him. He feels and hears his body snapping against his, into his, and he moans some more instead of answering.

He probably  _won’t_  walk straight tomorrow and probably  _will_ get bruises but it’s  _so_ worth it. God knows it’s worth it.

“I asked you a question,” Jeremy tells him, harsh, his dominant voice making Chris tighten his own grip on the sheets, mouthing over the pillow.

“Yeah, _fuck_ ,” he moans under his breath, “yeah just like tha- _AAH_   _FUCK, JESU-”_ he buries his face into the pillow, muffling the rest of his sentence.

His whole body trembles with pleasure while he bites hard at the poor pillow. He comes hard, breathless, head spinning around.

When he opens his eyes, moments later –probably just a minute or two after he soiled Jeremy’s bed, Chris’ vision is blurred. Eyes wet and most likely red, he’s having a hard time catching his breath. Jeremy’s lying next to him, looking up at the ceiling and Chris glances at his face.

“That – _fuck_ ,” he swears again, swallowing dryly. “That was-” he can’t find his words so he settles for the only one that can express his blissful mood right now, “thanks.”

Jeremy cackles, that adorable laugh Chris loves; it’s always been funny to him, how Jeremy can change from this funny goofball to this directing, sex god in a matter of seconds. But he won’t complain, he likes both sides of him. “Thanks?” 

“ _Oh, fuck you_ ,” Chris hides his growing smile into the mattress.

“Hey, do me a favour,” Chris hears Jeremy say after a whole minute of silence passes. He looks up at him and Jeremy ends, “call up your boy.”


End file.
